Christmas In July

One of my favorite gifts to give at Christmas would have to be books. If you know what somebody is into, you can find a book about it. So its a very personal gift because it says to the reciever "I know you dig this, because I know you, because I love you." At least I hope that sentiment is communicated when I give someone a book.

To personalize it ever further, I always write something in the book. A unique message to the person I bought it for. I love doing that, and I've heard from people that its very much appreciated, and it makes the gift more special. That warms my heart.

I want to share some of those gifts and writings, but I've blocked out the names of the recipients in case they want to remain anonymous. Except for my mom. I know she's okay with it.

Jane

        When I was eighteen, there was a lifeguard at our association beach named Jane. I had just graduated high school, and I think she was in her second or third year of college. Although just a couple of years older than me, she was much more worldly. More mature. She was a woman, while I was, in many ways, still a boy. I hadn’t had sex yet, and I’m sure she had. That alone put her in a different league.
        Despite this gap between us, we liked each other. We even flirted. She would tell me that she dug my “long, curly rock ‘n’ roll hair”, my “beautiful green eyes”, and my “nice physique”. I in turn spent plenty of time ogling her lengthy blonde mane, her pretty face, and her smokin’, athletic, bikini-clad body. She was a singer in a band, and I was a drummer, so we would occasionally talk music. She was a lifeguard at our beach for two summers. And then I never saw her again.
        At eighteen, I was just coming into my own. My senior year of high school had seen me explode out of my shell and onto the world in a blaze of adolescent glory. I hadn’t even kissed a girl, I mean really kissed a girl, until I was seventeen, just a year before. But between then and my eighteenth summer, I had been on lots of dates, kissed my share of girls, been to three proms, and even made it to third base quite a few times. Sex still eluded me, but frankly, I was in no hurry. Because I was still scared of it.
        At that point in my life, sex didn’t seem like just the next step after putting my hands down a girl’s pants; it seemed like a quantum leap into the unknown. The progression from kissing to heavy petting didn’t intimidate me. Maybe because it all felt so natural. Kissing, fondling, groping, and using my hands and mouth to explore the wonderfulness of a woman was always fun for me. I was eager to do it as often as I could. After all, I had been using my mouth and my hands my whole life, and I was pretty good at it. I could do lots of neat things with my hands and mouth; speak, eat, whistle, drum, punch, make things. Using them to love a woman seemed like just another artful skill that I could master.
        But using my dick? I had never used that on anything. Or anybody. Sure, I had learned how to pleasure myself when I was six, and, like most red blooded boys, had been practicing that art ever since. I knew exactly what I liked. But having to use my member on a woman to make her feel good (and achieve my own lift off) was a whole different story.
        So here I was, having exploded out of my shell not too long before, and I’m flirting with this older, worldly, totally hot blonde lifeguard. Even though I was still pretty naive, I could tell she liked me. But there were two things that stood in my way of ever getting it on with her; the fact that I had a girlfriend who lived next door to me, in the same association as where the lifeguard was; and, more importantly, the fact that I didn’t have a clue how to make a move on this woman who intimidated me.
        Even though I had come out of my shell, I certainly didn’t yet have a lot of confidence with women. This was all still pretty new to me. I blossomed rather late. I had wanted to hug and kiss and fondle and squeeze girls since I was probably twelve or so, but I had been denied that pleasure until I was seventeen. And even then, until about the time I turned eighteen that February, it had only been with one girl.
        In the spring of my senior year of high school, though, I was hooking up all the time. And here’s where years of frustration, years of wanting but not having, helped me. Because I had yearned but been denied female company for so long, when I got it, I had a different attitude than most boys my age. While most dudes were rushing to get the girl’s pants off, I was very happy just to kiss, touch, rub, grind, explore, and generally take whatever was being offered. I wasn’t overly aggressive, and girls liked that. So our encounters were generally wonderful and rarely awkward. They were fun, erotic, tender, steamy, passionate, relatively innocent; not simply a race to get inside of her.
        I’ve carried that attitude of acceptance and genuine appreciation for female companionship with me ever since, and its served me well. Even today, I’m never in a rush to have sex. I love foreplay. All those years of not having sex and instead spending my time exploring the female form have made me a better lover. When I finally got with someone, I paid attention. I was present. In the moment. Fully engaged in what I was doing. Like working for something for a long time, delaying the gratification for years, when it finally starts happening, your attitude is different than if it came easy and right away.
        This is a great example of how pain and frustration and a certain amount of suffering can shape one’s character for the better. It certainly did for me. I honestly love just being next to a woman I like. Rubbing against her. Feeling her soft skin against mine. Hearing her breathe heavier and heavier. Inhaling her unique scent with every breath I take. Exploring the delicious lines of her body and face. Trying different things and seeing what and how she responds. Whispering in her ear. Listening to what her voice sounds like when she slightly gasps or lightly moans. Letting her get to know me and what I like, and vise-versa. It’s all good. It’s all beautiful. And I could do it for hours at a time or weeks on end without worrying about when we’re going to “do it”. That’s what not getting it for years did for me.
        I wouldn’t change any of that. But I can still say, man, it would have been a gas to be with Jane. I could tell she was wild. There were all sorts of rumors around the beach about what a party girl she was. Lots of the older women who hung out at the beach all day didn’t like her. Back then, I couldn’t figure out why. She was nice to everybody. Years later, I knew it was just jealousy. I would have loved to have been part of a scandal back then.
        This is one of those scenarios that would definitely qualify as a “Do Over” if science ever allows us to reconstruct reality to our whims and relive an experience through virtual reality or some other mind boggling technology with no consequences to the present. There’s still a piece of me that would love to go back and have the experience of having sweet Jane lead me to manhood by schooling me in the ways of sex like a teacher does a prized pupil. She could have showed me the ropes. Literally. Actually, if I grew up quick enough and truly expressed what I liked, maybe I would have showed the ropes to her first. Literally.
        Of course, that’s the fantasy. She could just as easily have used me and broken my heart into a million pieces. Or maybe she was really kinky, and....wait, I can’t think of anything bad about that. Anyway, the point is who knows? As a “What If” game to play in my own head, it’s fun to do. Anything further than that, and I’m spinning into places I don’t want to go.
        Around this same time, the tune “Jane” by Jefferson Starship was very popular. It was, and remains, one of my favorite songs. Whenever I heard it, I would think of her. Even today, almost thirty years later, that song brings up images of the blonde lifeguard on my beach who almost became “my first”. There’s something sweet and innocent about that, and it will never leave me. So the song will always have a special place inside. And so will she.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a naughty bikini wearing blonde full of Wrongs) Reserved.

KissBitSu ®

        There’s a move I’ve developed that I’d like to share. It can be done by a man or a woman. It may take some time to get the hang of, but I can assure you that neither you nor your partner will mind the practice.
        The move is best performed when the other person doesn’t expect it. It usually works better in the summer than in the colder months. It takes some skill, but nothing that anybody can’t master. The move requires a sensitive feel, a firm but loving touch, a good deal of passion and playfulness, and just a dab of lust.
        I call it the KissBitSu. It’s one part kiss, one part bite, one part suck. It’s all done more or less at once, in a single fluid motion, often repeatedly, on your lover’s neck. And it’s best performed from behind, when they don’t expect it.
        The reason it works better in the summer is because a large part of the neck and shoulder area need to be exposed and available. That happens much less here in New England in winter, at least in public. I forgot to mention that it’s usually more fun when done in public, only because of the element of surprise. But it works just dandy if the two of you are alone and the other is caught off guard.
        Wait for your partner to be alone and appear relaxed. If you’re really ballsy, you can forgo this requirement and do this right in the middle of a conversation they’re having. But the drawback is that they may have to mitigate their response. That’s why I prefer the person to be momentarily alone. They’re not engaged in any activity, except thought, so once you make your move, they’re more likely to give you their full attention. Try it both ways and see what works. Maybe both will work for different reasons.
        Come up behind her (or him) and firmly grasp their exposed shoulders from the side, not the top. As you grab them, squeeze their shoulder blades together gently as you make a rubbing, circular motion with your hands. The grip must be firm, like you’ve caught them in a game of hide and seek, and they feel they couldn’t get away without some effort. But be gentle as well, because this is an act of love. Somewhat aggressive love perhaps, but love nonetheless.
        Once you’ve established this tender but forceful grip, caress, and squeeze, you can go in for the kill. So to speak.
        If you’re a guy, the chances are, you’re taller than your woman. This gives you a nice angle of approach (if you’re a woman, or are shorter than your partner, wear shoes and stand on tip toe to get your mouth at least as high as your partner’s neck). Target the area of her neck where it starts to sweep into her shoulder. For you anatomy buffs, the muscle you’re actually shooting for is the trapezius, or possibly the sternocleidomastodeus. Along those lines, when you grab the shoulders, the muscles you’re going for are the medial deltoids. But let’s not get hung up on technicalities.
        Once you’re targeting system has locked on (and this may take several attempts to hit a bulls-eye), you may commence the KissBitSu. Open your mouth and expose your teeth, kind of like a vampire. Drive your mouth gently but forcefully into the targeted area, allowing your teeth, your lips, and your tongue to all make contact with her skin at the same time. Then softly bite her neck and allow your lips to simultaneously rub against her (Note: This doesn’t work with a dry mouth. Your mouth must be well oiled prior to commencing KissBitSu. Lubricate sufficiently with water - not alcohol, because you want her to smell you, not vodka). At the same time, brush your tongue against her as well, and gently suck that moist patch of skin so that it makes a little noise.
        Getting comfortable with doing all this at once may take some practice. Don’t be disappointed if the first time you do it, it doesn’t quite come off the way you want it to. Practice this move while the two of you are alone. But never let on that you’re practicing this move to one day surprise her in public with it. If you do it enough when you’re alone and you’re paying attention, the first time you surprise her with it in public, you’ll both achieve lift off.
        The KissBitSu is one coherent action that encompasses several motions happening at once, kind of like your mouth multi-tasking. While you’re doing all this, don’t forget to inhale deeply. Get a healthy whiff of her luscious scent. That never fails to amp up the pheromones, the libido, and the overall lust factor. All critical behind the scenes motivators of a proper KissBitSu.
        I recommend you perform this action several times in rapid succession, followed by either whispering something very naughty in her ear or growling (as I describe in the post “Growl”). Don’t overlook the audio element. You’re deliciously close to her ears. Take full advantage of that.
        At the very least, she’ll be pleasantly startled, and maybe eek out a giggle or a little shriek. Always fun to partake in, for both of you, especially in public. But if you get really good at this, you may achieve something even better.
        Not everybody has this, but some of us do. It’s a certain place in the neck area called the “Bulls-eye”. If you hit it directly, and with proper technique, it instantly makes your lover involuntarily weak in the knees, lightheaded, and generally a complete mess (in a good way). You can get her eyes to roll back into her head and her head to tilt back, as though she suddenly has a neck made of rubber. If you know where this spot on her is, you can accomplish this response with a simple but passionate kiss. With the KissBitSu, however, you’re doing something a little different, and often times more effective. Bringing your teeth into the equation and employing a gentle sucking motion makes a big difference, because of the pressure you can apply. You simply can’t get that kind of action with a kiss. Sometimes the extra pressure and unique sensation of the KissBitSu is just what you need to put her right over the edge.
        But again, everyone is different. Experiment. Use this procedure as a guideline or a template. Come up with your own move, your own sequence, your own name. Then tell me about it. I love to learn.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a deliciously exposed neck full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Simple, Man

        When I first heard the song “Simple Man” by Lynryd Skynyrd, I connected to it immediately. In my teens, introspective but not yet very emotionally articulate, I knew I liked the song. I knew that it touched something inside of me. But I didn’t know what. And I didn’t know why.
         I was aware that a big part of why you like one song as opposed to another is unknowable. Like trying to figure out why one painting is beautiful to one person and hideous to another, most of it has nothing to do with cognitive processing. It touches something else in us besides our minds. Art has the ability to evoke our hearts for reasons we may never know, because it’s not a head thing. It’s a heart thing. It’s a spiritual thing. The mind certainly plays a role, but a relatively minor one.
         The melody and the musical passages of “Simple Man” were what first attracted me to the song. I learned the lyrics pretty quickly, but they didn’t resonate with me until years later. One day, about six years ago, I was listening to the song, and I started to cry. I had cried to songs plenty of times before, but never this one. And I had been listening to this song for over twenty-five years. Why now?
         When I asked myself that question, I came up with some answers. I cried because the lyrics finally touched me in a way they never had before. And the unique beauty of music is that it can transform words. Some words, some phrases and passages, have minimal impact when they are written or spoken. But if you put those words to great music, they have the ability to transcend the page they are written on or the mouth they come out of. Now those same words, that a moment ago evoked very little, are touching your heart and soul. I have a word for that. Magic.
         Going deeper, I asked myself what was it about the lyrics that were making me cry. I was able to isolate certain passages that really hit me.

“Don't get your lust from the rich man's gold
All that you need now is in your soul”

         Here’s what it was about that line; I knew and believed that everything I needed was indeed in my soul. But I also believed that I would never be able to get to it. There was just too much shit inside of me that would forever block me from being able to mine the depths of my own soul. For the first time, I made the devastating connection between having it all inside of me but never being able to get it. Starving in the midst of a feast. That idea of that being what the rest of my life would be about absolutely crushed me.
         The next line that hit me like a cold slap across a hot face was this one:

“Oh, don't you worry, you'll find yourself
Follow your heart and nothing else”

         I believed I was incapable of ever truly finding myself. I had done so much work on myself, and I still felt so lost. When would I find me and what was it going to take? I had no idea. And it wasn’t from a lack of trying.
         Following my heart felt as impossible to me as writing a novel in Chinese. I knew I had a heart. A big one. But I could rarely get to it. I couldn’t hear what it was trying to tell me, because my mind was creating so much noise that it was drowning out my own song. I wanted to follow my heart, but I was horribly frustrated because I could not get to it. Or I couldn’t get to enough of it to hear it or feel it over the drowning sound and omnipresence of my mind.
         Then there was the chorus, which spoke to me the loudest.

“And be a simple kind of man
Be something you'll love and understand”

         Three strikes on this one. I wasn’t simple. I didn’t understand myself. And I sure as hell didn’t love myself. Worse, I felt I never would. I felt far too complicated and messed up to ever consider myself simple enough to ever understand. I was after all, a defective model. Like a car that doesn’t work right, but no mechanic on earth can figure out why. “Everything appears to be in good working order, Mr. Piatelli, but the thing just doesn’t run right. It’s missing something, but we don’t have any idea what.” That’s how I thought about myself.
         And the self love thing was so far out of my experience that it didn’t even feel like an option. I didn’t hate myself all of the time, but I certainly didn’t love myself. And I was very familiar with self hatred, and I did it plenty enough. I was a pro at beating the crap out of myself and I didn’t see the benefits of becoming an amateur or hanging up my cleats. After all, beating myself up was the only way I could improve myself. I still believed that, even though all the evidence completely contradicted that.
         So what this song now represented to me was a path to redemption that I could never take. A way out of pain that I could see but not find. Like holding a gallon of cold water in front of a man dying of thirst. The weight of the words buckled me. And I broke down.
         When I hear the song “Simple Man” today, I sometimes still cry. But for completely different reasons. Please join me for part two, where I’ll tell you why.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a simple amount of Wrongs) Reserved.


SIMPLE MAN written by Ron Van Zant & Gary Rossington
© Duchess Music Corp., Longitude Music Co.

To hear a sample of the song "Simple Man", click here

Glass Buffet (part 2)

        Deep inside of me, there’s still a child carrying the burden that he is unlovable. That he is so flawed that all anybody can see are his glaring imperfections. That there is something fundamentally wrong with him that can not be fixed, no matter what he does.
        Sometimes, when I look in a mirror, I see this kid. He stares back at me from behind my green eyes. His eyes are red. Red from crying. He’s always crying. Because he’s stuck in the place, at an age, when life just plain hurt, all the time. He doesn’t know that I’ve grown up, become a man, taken him with me, and that we’re not there anymore. Like the stories you hear of Japanese soldiers stuck on remote Pacific islands who don’t know that World War Two is over, this kid is still there.
        One of the things this kid believes with all his heart is the fallacy that if he gets enough women to love him, to fall in love with him, to like him, to trip over how wonderful and adorable and great he is, that he’ll feel lovable. And when women give him love or attention or just like him, he does feel lovable. For a while. But eventually, he needs more. He needs another to go nuts over him. So he’s constantly trying to get women to love him, to like him, to give him attention, so that he feels better. But it’s never enough. No matter how many women find him beautiful and special, no matter how many women find him lovable, he can not love himself. So like a true fanatic, like a true addict, what does he do? He tries to get even more women to love him.
        It gets better. The more unavailable the woman, the harder he tries to get her to love him. This child believes that the way to redemption, the road to lovability, is to win the love of those most unable to love. He’s stuck at age seven, or nine, or ten. And that’s what life was like then. And the harder he tried, the less he got. So he just tried harder. He’s still trying today. That’s all he knows how to do.
        This is all unconscious of course. But I’m making it a conscious process so that I can do something about it. So much of our own work involves making the unconscious conscious. The first step is awareness. If this process remains unconscious, you remain unaware. And you can do nothing about it.
        There’s a saying in alcoholics anonymous that goes “One is to many, and a thousand isn’t enough”. They’re referring to drinks, but to this kid, it’s women. I’m not a sex addict. But I could have been. Something has always stopped me from sleeping with a woman just to sleep with her. Something has always stopped me from going out and trolling for a woman to have sex with just because I was lonely or horny or needed attention.
        I have never once woken up with a woman and regretted sleeping with her. I have to find somebody very attractive to go to bed with them, and I have to like them as well. I’m very picky about who I sleep with. That’s what’s saved me from becoming a sex addict, because without that strict criteria, I could envision this kid going out and finding some woman, any woman, to ease his pain for the night.
        This is the kid who wants every woman, including his ex-girlfriends, to still love him. This is the kid who wants intimacy with every attractive woman he meets, wants every attractive woman he meets to fall madly in love with him, never break up, but then go find another woman who will give him the same thing. And in the process, not hurt anybody, because that would make him feel worthless. His appetite is insatiable. And he’s completely unrealistic. He in fact lives in a fantasy world. He’s trying to fill a hole inside of himself with that which is outside of himself, and that never works. He doesn’t know any of this. But I do.
        I’ve been able to control this child by denying he existed. I stuffed him so far down in me that he was operating beneath layers and layers of other stuff. But as is virtually always the case, the pain within us drives our personalities to develop skills that will help us get what we want in order to ease this pain. Just because we deny the pain doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It’s still within us. It still drives us. We just don’t realize it. Just like an alcoholic who denies he is an alcoholic but who’s actions are driven by his need to drink.
        In my case, this pain, this longing for love and attention, is part of what drove me to develop charm, humor, wit, boldness, an outgoing and irreverent attitude, sex appeal, and other attributes I needed to get women to love me, or like me, or give me attention. I like to think of these personality traits as a sort of form fitting, skin tight body suit that shows what my real body looks like but prevents me from being naked. My body suit happened to be bright and colorful and sparkly and electric. It was a part of the real me, and still is. But it’s far from all of me. And the more conscious I become, the more in touch I am with this kid inside of me, the more I relate to the pain that he still carries, the more I work with him with the intent to heal, I more I shift. When I’m unconscious of this process, these personality traits I’ve developed drive me. When I’m doing the work to make this process conscious, I drive my personality traits. They’re not in charge. My kid isn’t in charge. I am. Big difference.
        I’m aware of this kid inside. I’m working with him, developing a relationship with him, instead of stuffing him down. That’s the only way I’m going to help him release his burden of feeling unlovable. He wants me to hear him. He wants a voice. He needs me to know him and love him. He needs to love himself. But he needs to learn how. So I have to teach him. And I teach him to love himself by loving him. And loving myself. Unconditionally. The way a parent needs to love their child. The way a parent needs to love themselves.
        One of the reasons (but certainly not the only one) I’ve never had kids is that I still have a few inside of me that desperately need my love and attention. When parents have these kids inside of them, but haven’t dealt with them, they pass too much of their own shit onto their children. I don’t want to be that kind of a parent. So I’m learning to love this child inside of me, and I’m learning to love myself. I can’t say I really understand how to do that, but I can tell you that I’m doing the work, I’m going in the right direction, and I’m making progress.
       Introspection. Self awareness. Prayer. Meditation. Al-Anon. Therapy. Books. A burning desire to be a better person. A burning desire to heal. A burning desire to self actualize. Connecting to my heart and coming from there as often as I can. Loving others more. Allowing myself to feel deeply. Being easier on myself (a real fuckin’ toughy). Owning my stuff and taking responsibility for my feelings and for my actions. These are some of the methods I use and have been using for years. These are some of the methods I will use for the rest of my life. Because this is a path I have chosen.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an even bigger buffet of Wrongs) Reserved.